


I’ve A Funny Feeling

by FoxglovePrincess



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Angst, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cheating, Deception, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Flappers, Happy Ending, Indecision, Inspired by Thoroughly Modern Millie, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, OOC Natasha Romanov, Possessive Behavior, Prohibition, inspired by musicals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxglovePrincess/pseuds/FoxglovePrincess
Summary: The reader is new to the big wide world of New York City, but she’s ready to jump right in and follow her dreams. She lands a job at Shield Incorporated, secretary to a handsome and wealthy man. She meets new friends, including a man who initially irritates her, and starts living her life to the fullest. And she’s heading for one of the hardest decisions of her life.*written in first person. reader is given no name, but is referred to as sweetheart, doll, Joe (it’s explained in the story, and not a marker of the reader’s gender identity), and tootsie. narrator/reader uses female pronouns, but there is no description of appearance aside from her having curls that she cuts into a short bob, typical to the flapper style.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Natasha Romanov (Marvel) & Reader, Natasha Romanov/Original Male Character(s), Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Reader, Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov, Wanda Maximoff/Vision, implied Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And I’m posting another story inspired by a Broadway show. I actually used to love watching the old 1967 movie when I was younger. And I was fortunate enough to see the show on Broadway in the early 2000s. 
> 
> Inspiration is taken from both the movie and musical, so there may be familiar phrases and situations that I incorporated into the narrative. However, I did steer clear of the white slavery plot lines from the original material and focused on the romance ones with my own spin.
> 
> Tell what you think in the comments. If I’m missing any tags, let me know (I tried to get everything, but no one’s perfect).
> 
> UnBeta’d, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title taken from “What Do I Need With Love?” (a song in the musical) by Jeanine Tesori and Dick Scanlan.
> 
> This work is not to be reposted on any other site without my explicit permission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slang dictionary in the end note!

The city bustles and rushes as people scuttle by. My eyes gawk over the towering buildings, scraping the sky and straining my neck as I keep looking up, up, up. People bump into me, jostling my suitcase and grumbling angrily.

My heart jumps with joy as each moment passes. Finally! Away from my hometown—my strict mother and judgmental family scraping by each week, the temperance unions that keep people drier than a desert, the one road that will take you from one side of town to the other. This place is different—New York City!—full of life and hope and dreams and _magic_.

After years of scrimping and saving, every penny I ever earned tucked away for this moment. I hardly believe it, but I drink in the sights around me like a thirst that can never be quenched.

My eyes scan each person as they walk by, the dandy men with their spiffy suits, the glamorous flappers that skip by in skirts shorter than I’ve ever seen. My body twirls around as I keep trying to take everything in.

“Will you watch where you’re going?!” A man exclaims as he grabs my arms, holding me in place.

I glance over to the most beautiful cornflower blue eyes I’ve ever seen. But, oh my, do they look peeved. My own feathers ruffle up as I swing my suitcase, using the momentum to pull myself out of the man’s grip.

“Now, don’t you go putting your mitts on me,” I bite with a glare of my own.

The man rolls his eyes with a sigh, dropping his hands. “If you didn’t walk around like a dumb Dora, I wouldn’t have to.” My feet step back as I scan the man chastising me.

Despite his spot-on impression of a disapproving school matron, he’s an absolute sheik—blonde hair, broad shoulders, those eyes, just as pretty as a picture. However, a pretty face never really did make me go dizzy. And this man is pressing all the right buttons to make me blow a fuse.

A scoff brushes past my lips as I turn and start to walk away. Before my feet even plant the second step, his hand is wrapped around my wrist.

“You new to the city?” he asks. I look back over my shoulder, an aggrieved sigh blowing past my lips. His eyes sweep over my figure, lingering on my long skirt and bouncing curls. “Yeah, doll, you’re definitely a rube. Let me help you get to where you’re going.”

“And why should I accept your help?” My tone scrapes with annoyance as I wiggle my hand, trying to get him to let go. Unfortunately, while his grip is gentle, it’s also unrelenting.

“Because I’m offering,” he shrugs.

An easy smile spreads across his lips, one that could be quite charming and make a girl go fuzzy, if that girl weren’t me.

“Why don’t you just breeze off and leave me alone.” A frown sits heavy on my lips as my irritation grows steadily higher. It sits in my throat and I hold back the urge to growl.

The man’s brow arches as he takes one last good look at me.

“Yeah, you’ll fit right in in no time, doll,” he chuckles with his smile growing wider and more amused.

He releases my wrist and turns away. His form saunters down the street without a care in the world, meshing with the crowd around him and disappearing from my view.

I huff an irritated sigh, pulling a map from my purse and reading the scrawl of the boarding house’s address—The Priscilla House for Young Single Ladies.

Best I find my way there without any further detour. Then I can worry about finding myself a job and maybe some fun.

*

“This looks hinky. I don’t think it’s the right place,” Wanda mutters as she clings to my arm.

My eyes roll as my feet trek forward, dragging her along with me. Our other friends trail along after me, girls from the boarding house all dressed in our glad rags and ready to get zozzled.

“Of course it is, I just need to find the damn door,” I reply. Wanda pulls on me, back toward the street and I sigh, “Don’t be a bluenose, Wanda, we’re having some fun tonight.”

The alley stinks of garbage and rot, dark without the shining light of the street. It had been a month since I arrived in the city. Moving into the Priscilla with the girls has been the best decision I’ve ever made. The little community of gals helped me get on my feet and find a job as the stenographer to the one and only J. B. Barnes, self-made millionaire and eligible bachelor.

I’ll admit, that’s exactly why I went after the job—he would be my ticket to the life I always dreamed about, a marriage to wealthy man and a secure place in high society. And, to him, I became indispensable. Always ready to take a letter or fetch a file. It was a busy job with a demanding man, and left little time for making whoopee.

But, tonight, that’s what I was after. Which is why I was trekking through filth in the dress Maria helped me alter, looking for a speakeasy Dot, from the office, mentioned.

“What are a group of skirts doing in a place like this?” A voice calls out.

Wanda jumps a mile in the air and hides behind my back. I squint in the darkness, looking for the source of the voice and see a shadow standing at the mouth of the alley, silhouetted in light, face hidden from view.

He walks up, hands digging deep in his pockets, strolling over with an easy gait that rings familiar in the back of my mind. As he walks into a stream of light, his charming smile and blue eyes spark recognition.

“You!” I shriek, pointing a finger at him, my hackles raising and waiting for a flippant comment. The man from my first day here, the handsy one who grabbed me while I was gawking at the city and offered to escort me to my destination.

His eyes brighten with recognition, “Doll!” He pushes through the girls of our group to stride up to me, arms wide open and a large smile. “Look at you!” He gestures to my outfit. “I told you, you’d jibe in no time.”

He sidles close to me and brushes his shoulder against mine. The girls from the house stare at me, wide-eyed, as I scowl and refuse to glance in his direction. My head shakes as my eyes scan my little group. The man nudges me once more and leans close.

“So what’re you doing here?” he asks, breaking the silence.

An involuntary shiver races down my spine as I feel the brush of his breath across my cheek. I keep my gaze firmly away, refusing to look as my cheeks bloom with heat. My jaw clenches as I grit my teeth.

“We were looking for some fun,” Wanda answers, her body still obscured from view by my own. “But I think we got lost.” My eyes snap to my friend, scowling at her admission to this stranger.

“I know just the place,” the man exclaims with a happy clap. “That is, if you wanna trust me.”

Our group exchanges glances, wariness bubbling in our veins. I step forward with a grimace, crossing my arms and trying to be intimidating.

“Don’t try any funny business,” I bite as I gesture for him to lead the way.

He nods with a smile and turns on his heel, walking further into the alley. The girls follow me as I take the lead position, pushing away my own anxiety and on the lookout for anything hinky.

A green door highlighted by a dim light appears just at the end of the long alley and a smile breaks over my face.

Turning to my friends, I crow, “This is it! I told you we were in the right place.” A bounce of excitement makes its way into my gait as we approach.

The man knocks on the door, a series of taps in rhythm, before it swings open to a lush hotbed of debauchery. Jazz fills every crevice, booze pours from endless bottles, people hang off each other while their bodies sway.

Gasps sound from behind me from my friends. My mouth hangs open, awestruck—this place is everything I used to imagine back in my podunk town, gritty and shameless yet completely dazzling in its own way. Full of opportunities for experience and enjoyment. My mother would hate it.

Twitters of excitement start building in our group. We break apart, some going to dance as the band picks up the tempo and some heading to the bar. Wanda remains glued to my side as I turn to the man who led us here.

“Thanks,” I say with a tight smile.

“My name’s Steve Grant.”

His returning smile is bright and knocks me bit off balance. His arm shoots out to steady me as I totter on my heels. My teeth worry over my lower lip as I take a second to compose myself.

“Thanks, Steve,” I mutter. My hand reaches for Wanda, linking our arms together and turning us away toward the bar.

“If you really want to thank me,” he starts with a shrug, “how about a drink and a dance?” He looks at me through his lashes, a sort of bashfulness that I hadn’t seen on him. His hands form fists in his pockets as he waits for my answer.

My lips purse as I take a moment to contemplate my answer, scanning him from head to toe and trying to figure out his game. I glance at Wanda who reluctantly separates herself from my side. Her elbow nudges me forward. I turn back to Steve and click my tongue. Hope lights up in his eyes as he holds out a hand for me.

“What’s the harm,” I sigh, placing my hand in his.

His cheery demeanor returns instantly as he drags me off. He finds a booth hidden off in the corner and we sit. I lean on my elbow against the table and peer at the man sitting beside me.

“What?” He fidgets in his seat, before turning and mirroring my pose with a smile.

“Just trying to figure you out,” I reply simply.

“Well, ain’t that just the thing. I’m trying to figure you out too.”

A waitress slinks over with her tray. Before I even open my mouth, Steve is ordering for us and the woman walks away. Steve leans back in his seat, smirk twitching the side of his lips. I level my gaze, unwilling to look away until I’ve cracked him open like a safe.

“So,” I drawl, “What do you do?”

His eyebrow cocks in amusement as he replies, “I’m an artist.”

I hum as the waitress comes back and places our drinks on the table. Taking my first honest-to-God sip of giggle juice, I try to keep my cool as it burns down my throat and sloshes in my stomach. My eyes never leave Steve—and he keeps watching right back.

“You’re a dewdropper, then.”

A teasing grin stretches across my lips as I take another sip of my drink. Steve scoffs in indignation. My heart flutters as his lips finally drop into a frown.

“I am not,” he insists in a clipped tone.

His brow furrows and his jaw clenches as he glares at the dancing couples on the floor.

My hands raise in a gesture of surrender. When he doesn’t lighten up, my smile fades as I realize I’ve actually upset him. Jazz music surrounds us as we sit—me observing him with strangely queasy feeling of uncertainty, him grimacing at anything other than me.

“I’m sorry.” My words, though stilted and laced with confusion, are sincere as my hand reaches out to rest atop the fist he has clenched on the table. “I didn’t mean—I’ve never—” I sigh and apologize once more. The feeling of remorse sits heavy in my gut, churning with the alcohol—I didn’t _want_ to offend him, maybe just poke a little fun.

“I draw up ads for the paper, mostly. But I prefer sketching whatever interests me,” he mumbles. Steve glances over, eyes hard and defensive.

I clear my throat and retract my hand, “What interests you?”

“Architecture, nature, people,” he replies with a dismissive gesture. My head bobs in a nod as my head tilts in contemplation.

“Well then, maybe I’d like to see your sketches,” I say after a prolonged beat, sitting up straighter and more than willing to get the conversation back on a happier track. “And now that I’m done sticking my foot in my mouth, maybe you’d be willing to show me some time?”

“Sure thing, doll,” he replies, a hint of a smile reappearing on his lips. “Maybe I’ll draw you, with your spunky new hairstyle and pretty dress.” His hand reaches over, pulling on a lock of my hair, chopped off as soon as the girls told me where to do it.

My hand reaches up, pressing down the back of my hair, resisting a mighty urge to ask if he likes it—like I care.

“What do you do?” he asks, leaning forward in his seat, scooting closer to me as the band plays louder in the background—a trumpet blaring a riff of a song.

I perk up, grinning with pride as I reply, “I work at Shield Incorporated, stenog to J. B. Barnes.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve heard of him,” Steve comments, eyebrows raising in surprise. His head tilts as he watches me.

“I’m gonna marry him,” I say decisively with a smirk.

My arm leans on the table, my fingers resting on my lips as I wait for Steve’s reaction.

Amusement dances in his eyes as he glances over to my left hand. “Is that right? I don’t see a ring on that finger.” He gestures with a nod of his head. His lips wrap around the rim of his glass as he takes a deep sip of his drink. “You carrying a torch for your boss, doll?”

I shake my head in denial. “Nothing like that.” Steve’s face remains surprised as I fidget in my seat and readjust myself to face him head on. I explain plainly, “He hasn’t asked me. He doesn’t exactly know it. But I decided a long time ago that I’m going to marry my boss. And he’s a perfect match.”

“How so?” Steve questions as he keeps his drink close, draining the glass and catching the eyes of the waitress for another. I take a sip of my own and clear my throat.

“He’s calm, assertive, serious, fastidious, hard-working, ambitious,” I say, listing off his qualities on my fingers. “Best of all, he’s financially successful and dreamy as Valentino.”

Reluctance stops me for a second. My eyes skirting around the dance floor as I internally debate going further, picking out my friends as they enjoy their night. I brush off my uncertainty and keep plowing forward with confidence.

“He even has a pet name for me already,” I boast, though disinclined to say more.

So, of course, Steve hums in curiosity and asks, “What is it?”

“Why should I tell you?” I ask, shoulders tightening as he inquires—prickly and resistant.

“Let me guess,” Steve muses.

He drapes an arm over the back of the booth and takes a long, lazy look. He smiles, that charming grin that draws attention and brightens his eyes. I shake my head to deter him from pursuing the question, but he starts rattling off endearments either way.

“Sweetheart? Darling? Baby?”

I deny each one with a shake of my head or a scoff. He doesn’t stop. My eyes roll as each guess gets more and more outlandish or silly, but he keeps going, getting more and more entertained by my denial.

Eventually, he gives up, slumping back in his seat.

“Come on, just tell me,” he pleads with an amused pout on his lips.

“He calls me Joe,” I sigh, bracing for the teasing sure to follow.

“Joe,” Steve repeats slowly, rolling the syllable in his mouth.

There’s something about they way he says it, not exactly derisive or judgmental, just so matter-of-fact.

A heated blush stains my cheeks brighter than my cosmetics, hackles rising in embarrassment as an explanation rushes to my lips. “Probably thought of it because I bring him his coffee every morning.”

A smile breaks over Steve’s lips as he chuckles, trying to muffle the sound, but failing to do so. “That is not a pet name, doll.”

“Like you would know,” I refute with a defensive growl. “I bet you have a new floozy hanging off your arm every night. Calling each one doll or baby, like they haven’t heard it from every other man they’ve ever met.” My lips pull down as my brow furrows, the heat from my cheeks burning with a fiery irritation directed at the man sitting next to me. “Why can’t it be a pet name? Who made you the big shot?”

“Alright, so he calls you Joe, and you bring him his coffee, so romantic,” Steve assents, leaning back as I steam in fury next to him. “Is that it?”

“I—” My lips part to reply, but I don’t have one. My anger fizzles out as we sit together. I gulp down the last of my drink, a comforting buzz building in my brain.

“There’s more to it than that,” Steve says as he pushes his glass in my direction.

I toss it back, intent on getting completely splifficated as quickly as possible now. A humorless laugh barks from my throat.

“I know,” I insist with a grumble.

My brows draw together as vulnerability cracks through. This man—this stranger—making me doubt myself, just for a second. I bite the inside of my cheek as I breathe deeply.

“I just need for him to ask me to marry him,” I resolve, “I don’t need love, just a stable partnership—I am a modern, after all.”

“Then show me how you plan to persuade one of the most notable millionaires in New York to marry you.” Steve gestures for me to proceed. Lips quirked in a half-smile, clearly intent on amusing himself with a bumbling imitation of flirting from me—he has no idea what he’s asking.

“You think you can handle me?” I question, confidence gaining with each second as mirth dances in his gaze.

My veins jitter with excitement—I love a good challenge. A smile spreads over my lips as something builds within me, something like anticipation, restlessness, enthusiasm.

“Try me.” He stares at me dead on, waiting. I stare right back, studying his posture, his dare glinting in his eyes even with the low lighting in the room.

A hum buzzes on my lips as the alcohol warms my veins and loosens my tongue. “Now, don’t go falling in love with me. Remember, you asked for it,” I coo, sliding close to him and placing my hand on his chest.

His eyes lower to gaze at my hand, resting delicately on his lapel. I hold back a chuckle as he breathes deeply, shakily, feeling the movement in my fingertips.

“Take me dancing?”

His smile is sweet as honey when he nods and leads me onto the dance floor. The band plays something mellow. Almost like liquid, we meld and sway together to the soft tune. Steve’s hand grips at my waist as one of mine dangles over his shoulder. My eyes stay locked on his the whole time we dance, waiting to see if I can crack him.

Our banter flows like the music as we dance—smooth and entertaining, tit for tat. The tips of his ears turn the brightest shade of pink when he blushes—and it’s priceless. He catches me off-guard once or twice, causing me to break with genuine laughter.

Eventually, the pretense of flirting drops as we stay together, just letting things fall into place, becoming amiable, two friends enjoying their night.

“You are not like any woman I have ever met, doll,” Steve says as his fingers dig into my waist. He draws me closer with a huff of delight.

“Damn straight.” I nod with a bold smile. My fingers absentmindedly play with his hair, trimmed close at the nape of his neck.

“Let me—”

Steve’s statement is cut off by a great bang. Police smash through the front door, and people scramble to get away. My friends rush toward us. Wanda grabs onto one of my arms, panic obvious in her expression.

“We gotta get a wiggle on. It’s the cops, coming to raid this joint,” Bobbi explains as she grabs my other arm.

My eyes dart to Steve as he nods and starts ushering our group toward the back of the building. People scramble all around us as policemen storm through, smashing bottles and grabbing people up.

We break out into the cool night air and my knees knock as the girls bump into me. I stumble forward and Steve catches me in his arms, righting me on my feet and making sure I’m unharmed. He silently points over toward the mouth of the alley and the girls nod.

We take two steps and—

“Freeze!”

The fuzz surrounds us and Wanda whimpers in fright. She grips my arm and I try to reassure her. The cops throw us in the back of a paddy wagon, full of other patrons of the gin mill. 

We spend the rest of the night in jail before they release us in the morning, bleary-eyed and hungover. A satisfied smile rests on my lips as I watch the sun peek over the buildings. The girls all walk in the direction of the boarding house, but I dawdle at the back of the group.

“How was that for your first trip to a juice joint?” Steve asks as he sidles up beside me on the sidewalk.

My smile remains in place as I reply, “Everything I could have hoped for.”

A giggle bursts past my lips as the whole night washes over me—strangely ecstatic, even after the night spent in jail uncomfortably cuddled up on the floor with a dozen other ossified bodies.

“Yeah, you’re definitely not like any other girl I’ve ever met.” He chuckles and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Will I see you around, doll?”

“I don’t see why not,” I reply with a shrug.

Steve smiles, brighter than the sunrise as he nods and walks away with a pep in his step. I roll my eyes, fondness creeping into my heart as I watch him go. Then I turn my attention back toward my route home and the girls grumbling about aching feet and heads.

*

“Joe, could you come in here?” My boss’s voice drifts through the door and I jump to my feet, scurrying into his office and drawing the door behind me.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes?” I stand across from his desk with a pleasant smile sitting on my lips.

“There’s something I want to discuss with you,” he says, hands steepled before him and elbows resting on his desk. His brow furrows as he concentrates, pulling his thoughts together. “You’ve been working here for a while now and you work ethic is swell, just swell. Frankly, you’re the best stenographer I’ve ever had.” He pauses and rubs his jaw with his hand, leaning back slightly from his slouched position.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes,” I intone.

I fold my hands in front of myself, waiting for him to assign me a task or dismiss me. But he couldn’t have called me in for just a compliment, right?

“Taking that into consideration, I need you take a look at this.” Mr. Barnes remains seated, holding out a stiff piece of paper.

My fingers wrap around it and I see the writing scrolled across the top in a ritzy script. I clear my throat quietly as silence descends over the room and read the paper, an invitation to a gala this coming Saturday.

My boss observes me as I scan over the page, getting up to close the door completely before sitting back down behind his desk.

“What do you think?” he asks as I lower the invitation from my sight.

He sits forward in his chair, folding his hands together across his desk. His eyes bore into me, waiting for an answer.

“Mr. Barnes?” I tilt my head in confusion, not understanding what he wants my opinion on. My brow scrunches as I look to the invitation once more. “What do I think about what?”

“It’s an opportunity for this company, and for you. A prestigious event that will host some of the finest elite society in New York,” he states and leans back, eyes still focused on my fidgeting form. “What do you think about going with me?”

My heart gives a heavy thump, but I keep a composed, considering expression on my face. A hum buzzes my lips as I scramble to figure out his reasoning. I know it’s something I want, but why the sudden change of dynamic from him?

“You can’t find a date?” I ask, cocking my brow in question. I click my tongue as I survey his unfaltering position. “No, that’s not right. I’m sure if you truly wanted to, you could find yourself someone. Golly, when you smile, I’m sure you make every girl in New York a little dizzy.” I shake my head to clear my thoughts and step forward to lean on the desk, perching just on the edge. “Why are you asking _me_ , Mr. Barnes?”

“I’ll be honest, Joe, you always look nice, modern,” he comments with a simple gesture at my figure and mild shock overtakes my face before I can stop it. He rolls his chair closer to his desk as he keep talking, “And you know your way around these business types from working for me. You’re a hard worker and would be a complimentary partner for the evening. I’m sure you’ll be charming and impress them more than any skirt I pick up on the street.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes,” I purr with the glimmer of a smirk on my lips. “I’ll add this to your calendar, shall I?” He nods in answer and turns back to paperwork lining his desk. “I’ll add it to my personal one as well,” I add with a tilt of my head.

I take just one more moment to lazily glance over his figure, pleased as punch with this fortuitous circumstance.

“Good. Go buy something nice to wear. Charge the business account, if you need it, but don’t bankrupt me, Joe.” Mr. Barnes doesn’t look up from his work as he rattles off his instructions. “I’ll meet you outside the venue at 7 sharp. Don’t make me wait.”

I nod and back away from his desk. My heels clack on the floor as I head toward his door. As my hand wraps around the knob, he speaks up once again.

“And, Joe,” he calls, looking up from his work to gaze at me. Intensity burns in his eyes and I begin to melt. “Do _you_ go a little dizzy from my smile?” His eyes flash, dark and intimidating.

My back presses slightly into the door, my knees feeling weak, as I respond confidently, “Well, Mr. Barnes, with a face like yours, how could I not?” I quickly retreat through the door, leaving it open behind me.

My feet move me to my desk, though I don’t much notice the steps, my head in the clouds and piecing together the events that just led me to a date on Saturday with my _boss_ —the man I planned to marry. I ache to jump for joy as my dreams start to develop into reality. Scribbling the event in his schedule becomes difficult with my trembling hands, one clutching at the fancy paper to note the particulars, body fluttering with excitement.

“What did he want?” Dot asks from her desk adjacent to mine.

“Mr. Barnes was just notifying me of an event to add to his calendar,” I reply with a small grin. My eyes dart to Melinda May, director of female personnel and the woman running the office tighter than a naval ship. I lean closer to Dot, dropping my voice, “and inviting me to accompany him.”

She gasps with obvious jealousy as she pouts, “You’re so lucky. And the most handsome man in business, too.” She leans back in her seat, crossing her arms and examining me from head to toe. A knowing smirk overtakes her features. “You looking to tie down New York’s most eligible bachelor?”

Before I can answer with a shrug or quip, May barks, “No personal conversations on company time.”

Both of us jolt in our seats, turning to our typewriters and busying ourselves until May turns her attention to someone else. A giggle bursts out of my lips, followed by Dot in titters of laughter as May walks out of the room.

My mind drifts as I continue working, typing out memos and letters or finding and filing necessary paperwork.

Wanda will never believe what has happened today. I’ll need to find a dress, something nicer than what I currently own. Perhaps I should look in one of the big department stores to find something appropriate. Or maybe I can find a nice dress from a cheaper store that Maria and Daisy will help me embellish. My mind races each moment as I make plans and anticipation builds.

By the time I clock out at 5:00 pm, I can’t keep the triumphant smile off my face as I start my journey home to the boarding house.

*

“That’s 35¢, miss,” the cab driver says turning to me.

I hand over 40¢ just to be polite and take a deep breath. The hotel stands before me, lit bright on the outside as the sun begins to set. My hand trembles as I reach out and grasp the door handle, nerves fluttering about in my stomach. I tuck my handbag under my arm and step out of the car. The fabric of my skirt swishes around my calves as I walk up on the sidewalk and scan the scene.

My hand presses down my dress as I adjust the material. Bobbi found an old, but stylish dress in her closet and Daisy, being the best seamstress in the building, helped me tailor it to my form with some added bits and bobs I charged to Mr. Barnes’ account. Despite having to barter and trade with the girls to get it done, it was worth it. The absolute elegance of the end result still baffles me. In fact, in the end, all the girls had flocked to my room to help me get ready for tonight—glitzing me up until they were satisfied—and it’s a little overwhelming, actually.

Mr. Barnes stands to the side of the entrance, his pocket watch ticking in his hand as he checks the time. I walk over, breathing in confidence before I’m standing in front of him.

“Good evening, Mr. Barnes,” I greet, a quiet enthusiasm clear in my voice. I take a moment to appreciate his perfectly tailored suit and shoes so shiny I can see my own reflection in them.

“Right on the button, you are, Joe,” Mr. Barnes says, tucking away his watch with his eyes cast downward. “That’s swell, just swell. Punctuality, the pride of princes.”

His eyes raise and look up at me before he pauses. We stare at one another for a moment. Words abandon me as I try to think of something to continue our conversation. Mr. Barnes gulps, his eyes wide as I wait for him to say something. But he stays silent. His hands twitch at his sides, his jaw clenching as an unreadable expression shadows his eyes.

“Shall we, Mr. Barnes?” I ask with a smooth gesture toward the hotel entrance.

My words seem to snap him out of his stupor as he stands straighter and nods.

“Please, call me Bucky,” he breathes as his eyes rake over my figure. “Short for Buchanan, the B in J. B. Barnes.”

A smile spreads over his lips and my knees wobble, though I hold firm and refuse to show how I teeter. I nod and turn my eyes away to find a minute to compose myself.

He offers me his arm and guides me to the door, the doorman opening it and welcoming us. The ceiling arches high and I gaze up with a brilliant smile—the glamor, the opulence, the grandeur—this is even more than what I yearned for in my wildest dreams—if my mother could see me now, she’d faint.

I turn to my date, squeezing his arm just a tad bit closer as elation surges through me. A warm chuckle rumbles in his chest as his free hand reaches up to squeeze mine back.

“You be on your best behavior now, alright?” Bucky says as we enter the ballroom, music swelling on the air as a band plays some jazzy waltz. “You can cut loose later, but right now is still business.”

My eyes meet his as he looks to me for confirmation. I nod and steel my spine, readying myself to impress and gain favor with these high class so-and-sos. This is my moment, my time to prove myself—a modern woman and up-and-coming socialite extraordinaire. Even my boss won’t be able to resist my charms.

Glasses tinkle and laughter twitters all around us. Glamorous, young women hang off of the arms of impeccably suited, older men—some half the age of their counterpart. My eyes scan each one, taking in every moment of this high society life and preparing myself to be better than them all.

Bucky escorts me around the room, introducing me and striking up conversations with someone or other. He schmoozes and talks about investments or games of golf and baseball. The men banter back and forth with my date. The women gawk at him and bat their lashes. I counter the urge to smirk at their flirtations, feeling nowhere near threatened by their displays.

To be honest, I don’t exactly blame them. Bucky’s quite the catch, physically—I definitely find him attractive, absolutely gorgeous, really. Though, even if his looks weren’t so eye-catching, my intention would still be to marry him. Aside from being a successful businessman, his other qualities are just secondary perks. And those includes his looks _and_ the funny way he makes me feel as we walk around the room.

I stay by Bucky’s side, attentive but unobtrusive, charming handfuls of suited men and their dates with a well-placed comment, or a demure smile when needed. Each time I do, the smile Bucky shines in my direction—God, it goes right to my head. I wasn’t joking when I said his smile could make a girl feel completely dizzy.

So I avoid the bubbly, passed around by waiters in their service tuxedos—who cares about prohibition when you have money, right? But my abstention is a strategic move. The one thing I need to remain the clever, delightful girl hanging on J. B. Barnes’ arm is my wits, and I’m struggling already.

Like Bucky said, this is business and I have a job to do.

It’s almost difficult to keep focused—all too tempting to get lost in the headiness of the night and the company. Fighting it with a sober head is the best I can do.

“Let’s dance,” Bucky offers, holding out his hand, drawing me toward the other waltzing couples when I accept. His arm wraps around my waist as he lifts our intwined hands to their proper position. “I made the right choice bringing you here, tonight. Everyone’s absolutely dazzled by you.” He swirls me around the dance floor, stunning me with his swift and graceful moves.

“Thank you, Bucky,” I reply a bit breathless.

My heart pounds in my ears. If he’s trying to charm me now, he’ll have no trouble. The dance floor spins under our feet as we stay locked in an embrace, staring into each other’s eyes. I _definitely_ chose the right boss.

“Anything to help out the company.”

“Just the company?” he murmurs, leaning closer and whispering his words in my ear.

Heat blooms on my cheeks as I look to his eyes, their steely color piercing through my modern sensibilities and throwing me completely out of my head. Under his gaze, I feel silly and small—and a little bit precious.

“No,” I reply with a heavy tongue. “Not just the company, Bucky.”

My brows draw together as I look to him, trying to decipher his intentions. Under the sparkling lights and swirling atmosphere, I feel stuck in a dreamland, everything I had hoped for coming true—but far too quickly, right? Confusion tints my expression, a manifestation of the tumultuous waves of emotion battering my rib cage.

Bucky guides me around the dance floor as his shining eyes sparkle with fascination and delight.

“I think this could be the start of something wonderful, don’t you?” His arm drags me closer, our bodies pressed firmly together.

My grip slips on my control, getting lost in the abyss of his grey blue eyes. My heart thunders in my ears, giddiness coursing through my veins and filling me with liquid joy.

“Of course,” I agree.

I feel disoriented, clinging to him as we sway and step, knowing he’s keeping me tethered to this moment. A bright smile spreads over my lips, matched by one on his own.

“Swell, just swell,” he replies.

Taking my hand, he unwraps himself from our hold and escorts me away from the couples still dancing together. I smooth my hand up his arm until I grasp his elbow and step closer to him. He turns to me with a smile on his lips, loosening my grip from his arm and placing a chaste kiss on my hand before tucking it back to its previous position. I sigh happily.

“Let me go get you a drink,” he entreats as we stand together at the edge of the room. He separates himself from me as I nod with a brief ‘Thank you’.

His form walks through the crowd of bodies, each one parting from his path as he cuts through the room. My eyes stay glued to his figure, watching each step. He stops to greet acquaintances when they acknowledge him. He even casts the occasional glance at me as he talks to them.

The more I observe him, the more he intrigues me and the more I can imagine the life we’ll spend together.

“It’s good to see Barnes settling down with a dynamite girl like you,” a voice states from beside me.

I glance over to see a pristine man holding a glass of dark amber liquid. He holds himself to be taller than his actual height and his eyes spark with glints of mirth and mischief.

“Well,” I demure, “I don’t know about that.” My eyes drift toward his chest, feigning innocence, though a smile plays on my lips. “I’m just here to accompany him. That’s all.”

The body beside me turns to look me over from head to toe. “Who are you, anyway?” His eyes pierce through me as I meet his gaze.

I give my name, hand held out to shake. Instead, the man kisses it and keeps it firmly in his grasp.

“And how do you know Barnes?”

“How is that any of your business?” I retort without any bite in my tone. His eyebrow raises in surprise and delight. My mouth twitches in a smirk. Eventually, I answer, “I’m Mr. Barnes’ stenographer.”

“Ah,” he chuckles, releasing my hand and taking a sip of his drink. “You any good?”

His eyes glance out over the room. I follow his lead, allowing my attention to wander briefly as I keep up the conversation, looking for Bucky in the crowd. But I can’t find him around any of the bodies congregating in the room.

“50 words per minute,” I reply.

He whistles low and surveys me once again, as if I now stand in a new light.

“No wonder he’s bringing you out on his arm.” The man steps closer and leans against the wall behind us. “You’re no wallflower, you got some real pluck, and you know how to play the game.”

“The game?” I ask, playing at ignorance as I turn my attention back to him.

“You stay in the background, sure, like any good date, but when you draw attention to yourself, you sure do make a statement.” He tilts his head as he examines me. I can’t deny what he’s saying. A feline grin spreads over my lips as I look at him, assessing and cool. “And that,” he says pointing to my face with his glass still clutched in his hand, “that would make any man bet his fortune on you.” He shakes his head and straightens away from the wall, advancing a few steps toward me before murmuring only loud enough for me to hear, “If he doesn’t get you handcuffed to him within the year, you come find me. I’ll gladly have a doll like you on my arm.”

“You trying to step in on my date, Stark?” Bucky’s voice cuts through the moment.

I look over my shoulder to see him standing there with two glasses in his hand.

“You’re the one who left your charming stenog on her own in a room full of wolves,” the man beside me replies. “Someone was going to try to tempt her away. I just stepped up to the plate first.” The man, Stark, grabs my hand once more to place a kiss before addressing me, “You remember what I said.”

I tilt my head and reply, “thank you for your offer, Mr. Stark, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline at this time.” My eyes dart to Bucky, a glare carved deep into his face.

“It still stands,” Mr. Stark says as a laugh rumbles in his chest.

He steps back and saunters away with a shake of his head and a firm pat to Bucky’s shoulder.

As he walks away, I focus my attention back on my boss, stepping forward and accepting the drink he holds out to me. The tonic water bubbles in my nose as I take a sip and swallow it down, holding back the displeased hum that threatens to push past my lips. My nose scrunches. The lemon helps with the taste, just barely.

But Bucky’s eyes stay locked on the retreating figure from our conversation, a calculation flitting through his gaze as he glances at me and back to Mr. Stark. I smile and wait for him to finish his own evaluation of the situation.

“What did Stark want with you?” Bucky eventually asks.

“I think he was just trying to suss me out,” I reply. “He made it very apparent that you don’t often find yourself out with a skirt in society. I think he was curious.” His body turns to me. I take a tiny sip of my drink and wait for his next question. Glee pushes a smile to form on my lips, but I hold it back until I can understand how Bucky is feeling.

“And what was he offering?” The words grate on his gravelly tone as Bucky takes a step closer to me. He wraps an arm around my waist and draws me close until all I can do is stare into his eyes.

I swallow the dryness sapping away the moisture in my mouth with a gulp of the horrid drink in my hand.

“He proposed a future position at his side, though he didn’t go into much detail—”

“You’re not taking it,” Bucky says with a grimace. His eyes dart in the direction in which Mr. Stark walked off before landing back on me. “You’re my stenographer. You’re gonna be by my side until we reach the top.”

I nod, almost numbly as speech becomes difficult, if not impossible, in my shock. My mind thrums with victory at the evening’s progress. Pride swells in my chest, bubbling up and overflowing like champagne. Feeling ready to burst, I look away before my gaze can expose my joy.

“Of course, Bucky,” I whisper, forcing the sentiment out of my tone, but struggling to stave off the excitement.

He nods once, decisively, before sweeping me back to the dance floor. We float together through the night, dancing, mingling, impressing everyone at the gala. Bucky stays by my side, refusing to leave me on my own until he drops me off in his black roadster at the door to the Priscilla with a kiss on my cheek and a sweet bid of farewell.

*

The park at mid-morning fills with laughter and bright sunshine as families enjoy their weekend, couples take romantic strolls, and others find their peace within the greenery allotted by the city.

I sit beneath a tree, book in my lap but completely abandoned, as my mind wanders to the magical night between Bucky and I. A whole week had passed since—one whole week of business and daydreaming. Wanda is convinced I’ll be married before the end of the year, and, with the subtle glances Bucky keeps pointing my way in the office, I can’t say I disagree with her.

“Stay just like that, doll, don’t move.”

The voice breaks me out of my reminiscing as Steve crouches with a small book in his hand. His pencil dances over a piece of paper as I play statue and listen to him.

“Are you following me, Steve?” I ask with a smile, trying to glimpse him from the corner of my eye. Though his figure sits in my periphery, I can’t quite see him.

“Not exactly,” he replies in a murmur.

Pencil scratches continue as we sit in a comfortable silence. Only moving to itch my nose, I return my hand back to its previous place and remain still. An inexplicable urge to laugh threatens to ruin my pose, but I hold it at bay.

“Alright, you can move.”

I tilt my head toward him, concentration narrowing his brow as he continues to draw lines and brush his fingers over his portrait of me. The intensity in his eyes is alluring, something inside me yearns to see what he’s sketching, but I can’t find the right angle to peek.

“He came to the Priscilla looking for you and I told him we’d find you here,” Wanda pipes up, standing behind him and watching him work.

My eyes alight on my friend, noticing her wrapped in a coat and carrying a small carpet bag.

A smile stretches over my features, curiosity piqued, as I inquire, “And what is so important that you needed to find me?”

“I want to take you on an outing,” Steve says, glancing up and shifting a little closer.

My body leans further to see the page of his book, but he tilts it away, pink dusting the tips of his ears.

“An outing,” I repeat, suspicion lacing my words.

My book closes with a soft thump as I gather my purse and make to stand. Steve tucks his pencil in the book’s binding and holds out a hand to me for assistance. I accept it with a grin and turn to my friends, cocking my brow in question.

“He wants to take us to a party on Long Island,” Wanda enthuses as she clutches the bag tighter in her hand, raising it in front of her chest.

Her excitement is palpable, and I’m inclined to agree to go on this trip. Especially since Wanda has been receiving rejection after rejection from auditions and enduring directors all too keen to take liberties with her. I pull her close.

“Alright,” I proclaim, motioning dramatically at Steve to proceed. “Then an outing we shall have.”

His features brighten as he smiles and leads us toward the entrance to the park—one of us hooked on each arm.

We catch a cab, the man at the wheel grumbling as he drives us to the airfield. Despite my protest that there must be another, cheaper way to travel, Steve insists on his designated plans and we find our way to a small airplane sitting ready for us on a runway.

“You can fly this thing?” I ask as hesitation halts my steps.

The idea of flying causes fear to shudder through my veins. Even as I don the coat offered to me, my thoughts spiral.

“Of course,” Steve replies easily as one of the field attendants helps Wanda into the front seat, leaving me a spot in the back seat with Steve. “It belongs to my friend, the one you’ll meet at the party. She’s been very kind to me and insisted I learn so that I can always visit.”

I hum, disbelievingly, and step forward. Steve helps me up and into the seat, squeezing beside me as the field attendants start the process of liftoff.

My eyes glance to Wanda as she tucks the bag by her feet and turns to give us both a wide smile. She dons the aviation helmet and goggles and I do the same, still feeling wary of the whole situation.

“Don’t worry, doll, you’ll be perfectly safe,” Steve says as he flicks a switch and the engine roars to life.

The propeller starts to spin faster than anything I’ve ever seen and the airplane starts to _move_. My breath hitches in my throat as fear washes over me. The wheels pick up from the runway and a sharp squeak of fright bursts from my lips.

My hand clamps around Steve’s arm, pushing myself as close as I can and clinging for dear life. A chuckle rumbles in his chest as he flies us higher. Eyes squeezing shut, I ignore the mild teases he directs at me and wait for it all to be over.

“Come on, sweetheart, you’ve gotta see the view at least once,” Steve coaxes as he continues to fly us toward our destination.

A whine wheedles in my throat as I peek one eye open and gasp.

The view! It’s like being on top of the world. A laugh bubbles out of my throat as an exclamation of “Gee! Steve this is absolutely terrif!” passes my lips. I drag Steve closer in excitement as the thrill of flying sets in.

“This place is where we’re going,” he says, gesturing to the ground below us.

As I lean over and look, my eyes widen. Below us lay a vast mansion and sprawling acreage of land. Even from our height it all looks pristine and lavish.

“You can’t be serious,” I chide leaning back in my seat and pushing at his bicep.

But then he starts to lower the plane. A squawk bursts from my lips when I realize, he wasn’t joking. He just laughs.

We land in a field close to the mansion and I spy a woman waiting for us there. Even from a distance, her bright red hair glints in the sunlight.

“Steve, the grass needs cutting again,” she calls out as we get out of the plane. “Can’t find anyone else that’ll do it just right.”

As I feel solid ground beneath my feet, my mind comes back to me and I look up at our pilot, head tilted in confusion.

“My father worked as her gardener before he passed,” he explains with a shrug. “She’s always been good to me and all she asks for is company from time to time.”

I nod as skepticism gnaws at my gut. As we approach and I can see her clearly, she doesn’t look much older than us, less than a decade difference. Her green eyes pierce through me as I size her up and examine every detail of her stunning appearance.

I glance back at Steve and my eyes narrow on him.

“Oh, dear,” she hums, walking up and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “You’ve got a smart one here, Stevie, thinks you’re selling snake oil.”

A smile glints in her eyes as she begins guiding me toward the house. I glance back to see Wanda and Steve trailing after us.

“You see,” she explains, “I’m the third Mrs. Rogers, and Stevie’s been around since the first Mrs. R. was here, rest her soul. His father really did work for Mr. R., you see. And if there’s anything that Mr. R. taught me, it’s that this place is our home—not mine, not his, but _ours_. And that includes Stevie and, now, the two of you.” Her hand squeezes my shoulder once more as we walk up the steps. “He really is like the son I never had, honest.” She smiles and a small grin forms on my lips in return. “Now, Stevie, introduce me to your wonderful friends and then we can get you all ready for the party!”

I bask in the presence of this woman standing beside me. She’s absolutely modern and experienced, and everything that I want to be one day. And she has absolutely no shame—a truly vivacious lady, living life to the fullest.

Steve introduces Wanda and I, and Mrs. R. insists, “Call me Natasha, I don’t go for that Mrs. R. nonsense,” before we’re escorted up a grand staircase and shown our rooms.

My breath catches as the marble clicks with each step and the walls seem to shine in the sunlight. Wanda looks just as excited as I feel. Mouth gaping open, my eyes devour every detail I can catch until we’re separated and shown into our own room.

The bed is simply enormous, enough to fit three people or more. My hand drags over the fine fabric of the duvet and I hum in giddy delight. Freshening up in the joined bathroom—and golly isn’t _that_ an experience, to not share with five other girls at the same time—a knock interrupts my thoughts.

“Come in,” I holler out the door as I wash my hands.

Wanda glides into my room with her carpet bag slung over her arm. She sets it on the bed, the dowdy thing standing out like a sore thumb compared to the exquisitely fine bedding.

“It’s time to change for supper before the party begins,” Wanda announces, throwing open her bag and pulling out my gala dress.

“Wanda, isn’t that a bit much?” I inquire, hesitantly taking the dress into my grasp.

My eyes examine Wanda in her own ensemble, which is much finer than my own on a regular basis—she’s a rich girl who likes to pretend at being poor, and I love her for it—but tonight it is really stunning, beads and fringe covering her from head to toe. She looks like she could be going to a grand ball, not just dinner and a party.

Wanda sighs and taps her toes in exasperation. She glowers at me for a moment and I stare right back, but she doesn’t relent. My concession to her demands happens swiftly as I nod and begin to change.

She squeals in delight and helps me prepare, throwing accessories at me to borrow. Wanda spends the time helping with my hair gushing about her potential new beau—a British man she met in the park with traditional sensibilities but a penchant for surprises. I hum in excitement as she tells me every little detail, teasing her about the little sparkle in her eye.

We head downstairs together, arm and arm, once we’re done, greeted by Natasha and brought into the dining room. Supper passes at a long table that could fit fifty guests—an exaggerated guess, perhaps, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it were true—in a large room surrounded by windows. Natasha regales us with tales of her life, full of laughter and adventure despite her young age.

The party begins later, when the band arrives along with a horde of guests. Natasha disappears quickly into the throng of bodies. Steve and Wanda sneak away as well, leaving me alone to wander through the crowd of elite guests.

I allow myself to roam, sipping on a glass of French champagne and following people outside to the back garden where the band plays jazz and lights illuminate the quickly falling night.

“What are you doing all on your lonesome?” Natasha asks as she dances by, her partner firm in her embrace. They sway to the music beside me, waiting for my answer.

“Just taking a moment to breathe it in,” I respond, scanning the couple as Natasha smiles and her partner dips her before me.

“Well, this is Clint,” she enthuses as he lifts her upright once again. A smile spreads over my lips as I look at the absolute twinkle of glee in her eyes. “He’s my instructor for, well, everything!”

He nods at me with a smirk and a wink. Natasha playfully pushes his chest as he sways and sweeps her away. I lift my hand in a small wave of farewell before spotting Wanda and Steve chatting with a group of people.

At the first glimpse of discomfort on Wanda’s face, my feet stomp over, wrapping a protective arm over her shoulder and smiling with an excuse to whisk her away.

“You alright? Something eating you?” I ask as she sighs and looks back to the group.

Wanda leans into my side as we walk around the garden, hiding away just inside the hedge maze. She slumps onto a stone bench as I smile down at her.

“Got an earful from that group about living in the city,” she groans. “As if they even know what they’re talking about—bunch of snobs.”

A snort tickles my nose as I take a seat and lean back on my hands, nodding in agreement. My shoulder bumps with hers as she finally relents with an airy chuckle. With one last sigh, she lets go of the tension in her spine.

“Decided to become a couple of flat tires, then?”

Steve walks out from behind one of the hedges, hands shoved in his pockets and teasing smile on his face.

“Definitely,” I reply with a smirk as Steve saunters over and stands in front of us. “When all those high hats are jabbering on and full of horsefeathers, I’d rather skedaddle.”

“You don’t seem like the type to back down from a challenge,” he snorts. His eyes stare down at me, amusement clear as day in his baby blues.

“Oh, I’m not,” I agree with a shrug. “But I’m here to enjoy myself and I know when it’s time to retreat—not worth the scuffle. I’m nothing if not strategic. Once I’m good and ready, I’ll head back and dazzle the crowd.” I smile up at him as I nudge Wanda once more. “Can’t let those boobs think they’re something special just because they have the bees.”

A laugh bursts from Steve’s chest, his hand withdrawing from his pocket to clutch at his chest as he leans back.

“God, sweetheart, I absolutely adore you,” he says as his laughter dies out.

A spark of affection shines in his eyes as my mouth dries. The way he’s looking at me—my heart thumps in my chest and I swallow, trying to calm the butterflies flapping a tornado in my stomach.

“Well,” Wanda says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close, “that’s not surprising. She’s pretty spectacular.” She stands from the bench, releasing me. She grabs onto Steve’s arm, draping herself over him. “I think it’s time to go back, better than making Natasha come find us.”

I sigh with a shake of my head and stand. Following the two of them back to the glittering lights and laughter of the party, my eyes observe their closeness. They sure do look pretty cozy together. And when Steve asks Wanda to dance, a grin stretches my lips—good for her.

The three of us stay glued together for the rest of the night, enjoying the booze and band. We kick up our heels and cut a rug, dancing the night away. Letting loose with them, my troubles just drift away until the only thing I can think about is the moments I’m sharing with my friends.

As the party guests begin to trickle away, a while past midnight, Steve grabs my hand.

“Take a walk with me, doll,” he implores.

My eyes glance back to Wanda as she walks toward the house and her room. I reach a hand out to gesture in her direction.

My mouth opens, but Steve clarifies, “Just you and me.”

His hand squeezes mine and I nod, following him as he weaves our way through the hedge maze all the way to the middle.

A grand fountain stands at the center, circled by stone benches and illuminated by the garden lights. The fountain remains quiet, turned off for the evening as Steve releases my hand.

I walk around the pool, skirting my fingers around the stone of the base. Steve watches me, his eyes studying my movements. As I round the fountain once again, he catches the tips of my fingers and draws me closer.

“What are you doing?” I ask with an uneasy chuckle, eyes stuck on his warm hands, strong fingers, gentle hold.

His other hand snakes around my waist, pulling me flush to his front. His eyes flicker with uncertainty, but warmth overtakes his expression. He leans forward, his forehead pressing to mine.

Fondness creeps over me as he envelops my senses. He’s one of my best friends already, a sure fire way to have a good time. Sure, he comes off as a bit of a rake, but he challenges me and excites me in a way I can’t quite explain. Every time I’m with him, I know that I’ll end the day with a smile on my face—and that’s just because it’s him.

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the moment I met you, doll,” Steve eventually answers, a quiet confession. He tilts his head, catching my eyes as I try to look away.

A battle rages within me as I realize what he’s starting to admit. The intensity simmering in Steve’s gaze sets me on edge, but I can’t resist the prickle of pleasure that tingles within me. I swallow down the smile that wants to break over my face.

Bucky. His face jumps to the front of my mind.

Bucky—my boss, the man I plan to marry, the man I’m finally getting somewhere with, the man who can get me everything I want.

I draw away from Steve, trying to pull out of his grasp and fighting myself the whole way. He doesn’t budge, but keeps his hold around me.

“Steve, please,” I whisper, my hands reaching up to cradle his face, unable to resist the temptation to do so.

He leans into my palm, his lips searching for the tips of my fingers as they rest on his cheeks. They remain just out of his reach as I move them from their positions, avoiding the tempting touch of his lips.

“I told you that I planned to marry my boss. That hasn’t changed.”

“Be my stenog,” he replies, eyes beseeching. His hands flex where they hold my body cradled to his. “Marry _me_.”

I sigh and break my gaze from his.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is for me.” His hand raises my chin to look at him—and he’s pleading and determined and so absolutely gorgeous—and it strikes me then how close I am to tipping head over heels, without ever having realized. “Please.”

“Artists don’t need stenographers,” I murmur as my last strands of resistance holds strong.

“Sweetheart,” he mutters, leaning close once again, “I want to marry you. I want you to be mine.” His hands release me to hold my face as mine drop from his cheeks. Shock courses through me.

Oh.

And it drifts away—my last little thread of opposition gently unlatched by his insistence. My heart flutters and a tentative smile breaks across my lips.

“Steve—” I struggle to find the right words.

My mind feels discombobulated, thoughts flying round and crashing through my brain. A incredulous laugh bursts out of me as I scramble to come to terms with what is happening. I push away from Steve, taking a few steps back until I feel like I can breathe again.

Steve whispers my name, taking a step forward. My hand raises to halt him. He pauses, arm reaching out to me.

I draw a deep breath into my lungs, feeling them expand and releasing the air out of my lungs slowly. My eyes close as I try to straighten myself out and gather my thoughts.

“Steve,” I repeat, his name croaking out of my lips.

I pause, unsure how I’m going to continue. My eyes flutter open and I gulp down my hesitance. As our eyes connect, every conviction I’ve mustered flies away.

Steve steps forward. I step forward. We stare at each other as the seconds tick by.

His fists clench at his sides and doubt dances in his eyes. I realize he won’t make the move, so I close the distance between us and press my lips to his. His hands reach to cup my cheeks, keeping us connected as we kiss. A hum of delight twitters in my throat as I wrap my arms around Steve, feeling his form press to mine.

He breaks away from me, a dazed and dreamy look in his eye.

“Be my girl?” he begs.

I nod, leaning back in to taste the sweetness of his lips once more. His tongue swipes over my lips and they part on a gasp in response. He licks into my mouth, exploring me and mapping out every detail.

The night plunges into darkness around us as the garden lights switch off.

Steve draws away on my shriek, and, once I compose myself, I can’t help but gawk at his beauty illuminated by moonlight. He laughs and glances around us, grabbing my hands and pulling me away.

I whine—a needy, petulant kind of sound—and he turns to me, luring me toward the house with light pecks to my lips at each step.

He guides me through the garden, familiar with his surroundings and intent on keeping me safe. The lights of the house still shine in the darkness of the night as we walk up the steps and find our way inside.

We part at the top of the stairs, Steve turning right while I turn left. Our hands hold together for as long as possible until I break away and turn my gaze toward my path. With a brief glance over my shoulder and a giddy giggle, I skitter away and throw myself into my room.

Though the clock chimes the early morning hour, energy and brightness consume me. Sleep evades as I take the borrowed accessories from my body and slide off my dress. A brilliant smile stays glued to my face, unfaltering, as I prepare myself for bed.

My nightwear wraps around me like a warm hug and fuzziness takes over my head. Despite earlier reluctance to admit how wonderful Steve makes me feel, I’m floating on cloud nine.

Though pervasive thoughts begin to buzz in my head about financial security and planning for a future married to a poor artist, I push them aside. The image of Steve, gazing at me like I hung the moon, eclipses all of that. Doesn’t it?

My eyes dart to my clock. The hands show the early hour, but I give in to the temptation to see Steve again. The surge of yearning to always be beside him overwhelms me, and I’m helpless.

Peeking my head through my doorway, I creep down the hallways in the direction of Steve’s room—the house lights off now, and only the moonlight to guide me. My teeth worry over my lower lip, nervous excitement coursing through my veins. Each step a clandestine approach that leads me closer and closer to my objective.

Past the stairs, I slow. Wanda is in this wing of the house as well. The last thing I would want to do is wake her. But, _oh_ , how I want to tell her the wonderful news!

As Steve’s door appears in my vision, I stop.

He stands in his doorway, light illuminating his figure from behind. He’s turned away from me, but he gestures toward someone else down the hall. Slinking in the shadows, I conceal myself just inside an alcove carved into the wall. My brow furrows as I listen in and wait to see what he’s doing, curiosity piqued.

“Come on,” he whispers, beckoning for someone to enter his room. “Get in here already!” There’s eagerness in his tone and a keen smile on his face as a figure dances toward him. “Sugar, come on!”

A girlish giggle echoes in response. A familiar girlish giggle. Wanda’s giggle.

As she approaches him, he grabs her in his arms and sweeps her into his room. He closes the door, eyes scanning the dark hallway as he does. I shove myself into the shadows so he won’t detect my presence. The door clicks and a giddy squeal erupts from the room.

 _Oh_.

My feet run back to my room, no longer caring about waking Wanda—apparently I didn’t need to bother. I take only the slightest care in not slamming my door as I thrust it open or when I snap it closed.

Tears well in my eyes as the heat of rising fury consumes me. I brush my fingers over my cheeks as betrayal carves itself deep into my bones. I won’t blame Wanda. For all she knew, Steve and I were just close friends. But Steve— _Steve_ —I choke down a sob and grit my teeth as I stomp over to my bed. I may damn well have budding feelings of love for him tonight, but come morning I’ll never speak to him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slang Dictionary:
> 
> Mitts — hands  
> Dumb Dora — an idiot  
> Sheik — a man with sexual appeal  
> Rube — a country bumpkin  
> Breeze off — get lost  
> Hinky — suspicious  
> Glad rags — fancy clothes  
> Zozzled — drunk  
> Bluenose — a prude  
> Whoopee — fun  
> Skirts — women, girls  
> Jibe — fit in  
> Giggle juice — alcohol  
> Dewdropper — a slacker who sits around all day and does nothing, often unemployed  
> Stenog — stenographer, someone who transcribes speech into shorthand, like a secretary  
> Carry a torch — unrequited love  
> Big shot — the boss, someone of I portable or influence  
> Splifficated — drunk  
> Get a wiggle on — get a move on, get going  
> The fuzz — the police  
> Ossified — drunk  
> Ritzy — fancy  
> Swell — wonderful  
> Handcuffed — engaged  
> Roadster — a type of car  
> Terrif — terrific (a phrase used in the original 1967 movie)  
> Snake oil — a substance with no real medicinal value sold as a remedy for all diseases, referring to deceptive practices  
> Something eating you — something bothering you  
> Flat tires — a bore, dull or disappointing  
> High hats — a snob  
> Full of horsefeathers — full of nonsense  
> Skedaddle — leave  
> Boobs — dumb men  
> Have the bees — to be rich


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the second chapter! It’s just a hair shorter than the first, but I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Leave me a comment or kudos, if you want. I love feedback!
> 
> Slang dictionary in the end note!

Typing fifty words per minute has its advantages. It certainly meant my skills as a stenog were in high demand. Impressing J. B. Barnes was easy. It also meant that on most days, I could finish my typing and focus on other secretarial duties.

However, there were also supreme disadvantages.

Like now, on a Monday just before noon, when I have everything typed and all matters of work sorted into their proper place. And I have no choice but to pick up the phone when it rings beside me.

“Shield Incorporated, office of J. B. Barnes, how may I help you?” I recite into the phone. My jaw clenches as I predict exactly who will be on the other end.

Steve beseeches over the phone, “Sweetheart, please—”

“Steve,” I interrupt through gritted teeth. “Leave me alone.”

I slam the phone back on its hook and a muffled scream of frustration rumbles in my throat. My hands clench in the air as if trying to strangle him through the phone.

“Personal matter?” May asks, stalking over with a file in her hand.

I glumly nod my head, slumping in my seat. She glances at the pages in front of her, before snapping the file shut.

“Not on company time. You know the rules.”

“I didn’t ask him to call, I don’t want him to call,” I insist as May stands over me with her arms crossed and a stern look staring down at me. “I never want to see Steve Grant again.”

“Good,” she replies, placing a hand on my shoulder in a pantomime of comfort. With two taps, that feel almost like approval, she moves on.

My head falls into my hands as I try to push away frustration and gather my wits—but all my mind dwells on are the feelings I’ve pushed away, fond feelings. Tears well in my eyes, but I wipe them away, now is not the time to cry over my heartbreak.

Hours pass with swirling emotions distracting me from my work. But I make do—relying on Dot to pull me back when I start drifting too far. She even starts answering my phone for me, the dear, just so I won’t have to talk to Steve again if he calls. I’ll have to buy her lunch tomorrow.

The ding of the elevator draws my attention as I sit at my desk, trying to find something to do. With a glance up, I see a frazzled blonde head rush out. As he looks around, recognition dawns. Steve came to my work?!

Tension grips my spine as I stand abruptly. Dot glances over at me in surprise as she takes a phone call. I don’t pay her any mind, too focused on Steve as he starts approaching May at her desk. Fists clenching and eyes darting around for an escape, my feet move before a clear thought forms.

I enter Bucky’s office before I knock and push my back against the door.

He looks up at me, a quirk in his brow inquiring as to my presence. A spark of amusement dances in his eye, but there’s concern there too. I clear my throat and take a step away from the door.

“Is there—” I stop as my voice cracks and start again, “Is there anything you need help with, Mr. Barnes? I’ve finished filing the invoices and typing up your memorandums.”

My eyes tick behind me toward the door briefly as I wonder whether Steve will be out there when I’m dismissed. Part of me longs for it, the other berates myself for those naive desires.

“These need to be filed with the others,” Bucky replies, gesturing to a pile of folders sitting on the corner of his desk. His finger rubs over his bottom lip, a thoughtful look crossing his features as he observes me. “Are you alright?” he asks as I take my first step forward.

“I’m quite alright, Mr. Barnes, just a little flustered,” I reply stiffly. I hustle forward and grab the files, hefting the stack into my arms and muttering a quick, “thank you, sir” before retreating toward the door.

“Wait,” he calls.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes?” My head turns to address him.

Bucky stands from his desk and strides over. He stops in front of me and reaches up to grasp my face gently in his hands. His thumb brushes over my cheek, a soothing gesture that causes my face to burn with a blush. My teeth nibble on my bottom lip as nerves overtake me.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he inquires softly.

I nod as much as I can as he holds me in place. He scans my face for another moment, waiting for something. My gaze drops as I see determination flash in his eyes.

“Good.” He releases me and takes a step back. “Then I need to go over a proposition with you.”

My mind snaps to attention, whipping away from the possibility of Steve outside to my boss standing before me.

“Of course, Mr. Barnes.”

I follow as he motions me to a seat. He leans against his desk as I calmly sit down.

“You enjoyed your evening at the gala with me,” Bucky questions, though it sounds more like a statement. His brows tilt as he gazes down at me, his arms shoved into his pockets.

“Yes,” I nod with a small smile. My body shifts, adjusting in the seat to be more comfortable. “It was quite the magnificent experience.” My nerves increase with anticipation—perhaps another social engagement requires his presence, maybe he wants to take me.

“That’s swell, just swell,” he mutters, a smile of his own smoothing over the seriousness of his features. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you today.” He waits a beat, glancing at his door, before continuing, “This proposition—it’s a proposal of sorts, a partnership.”

He fidgets where he stands, one of his hands gesticulating in the air before rubbing his jaw, a faint scratch over the stubble growing there. He breathes a sigh of my name, a tender look gracing his features.

My heart thrums in my chest, thumping like a big brass band. Trepidation shoots through me and I’m overcome by the instinct to run, but I remain in place. My hands clench in fists over the files piled in my lap, kneading together as anxiety floods my system. Boy, the day I’m having today.

“I like you, a lot,” Mr. Barnes continues, “and I think we would be great together. I want to take this city by storm—climb all the way to the top.” He crouches down before me, grabbing one of my hands in his. “And I can—I _want_ —to do that with you by my side.”

My tongue feels thick in my mouth as I form the question, “And your proposal?”

My eyes meet his—soft, yet serious, anticipation and excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“A marriage proposal,” he clarifies.

He stands and releases my hand as he begins to pace. He avoids my gaze as I sit, marinating in my shock.

“I know that this is sudden, but after seeing you perform so well at the gala, I knew you were the girl for me. You’re smart, spunky, and can charm the pants off the upper-crust.”

He keeps babbling about my virtues and accomplishments, but I hear him like he’s speaking through a fuzzy microphone. The world seems to narrow around me as I slowly adjust to the situation and the expectation.

He recaptures my attention as he starts saying, “We can lay out a contract to protect both our interests in the marriage, our expectations and the like. You’ll be duly compensated.” He pauses for a moment before he finishes, “I would like to think it will be mutually beneficial for us and that, really, we could be very happy together.” He crouches before my chair and once again grabs one of my hands. “What do you say?”

I swallow, my mouth full of cotton. My eyes skip from his face to his desk and back, thoughts whirring round as I try to come to grips with an answer. He looks at me intently, hope shining in his eyes. Half of me wants to shout ‘yes!’ and dance in victory, yet the other half—the traitorous half—still drifts to thoughts of Steve and wondering when I’ll see him again—if I want to.

“May I have some time to consider your generous offer?” I ask finally. My face stays a friendly mask, disguising the chaos reigning in my mind.

Bucky clears his throat and stands. “Of course,” he says with a tight smile, “I look forward to your positive response.”

He retreats back behind his desk and begins to work, dismissing me without a word. I gather the files in my lap and leave, heading straight toward the file room.

The door closes behind me with a click and I release a breath. My back slides down the door as I collapse. I concentrate on my breathing, calming down. The files sit beside me on the floor, dropped haphazardly. In the quiet of the filing room, my mind finds a small nugget of peace, though I don’t come anywhere near close to an answer for Bucky—or for myself.

With a disheartened grumble, I stand and begin to file away the folders and papers, organizing each item in its place. I rejoice in the monotony of the task—taking physical movement and mental focus to complete, leaving no room for internal debate.

Tap.

I jump at the sudden sound interrupting the calm of the room. My head whips around, looking for the source. I check the door, pushing it open just enough to see if anyone is on the other side—no one in the office even close.

Tap. Tap.

My eyes widen as I turn and they fall to the window on the opposite wall. The door closes behind me with a snap as I swallow a scream bubbling in my throat.

 _Steve_ is standing on the window ledge. _Thirty stories_ in the air.

A squeak erupts from my lips as I rush to the window and throw it open. Steve clings to the building on the other side, a strained grin on his lips.

“What are you doing?!” I shriek, eyes darting down toward the ground. My vision swims and I close my eyes to regain my bearing. “Are you insane?”

“I needed to see you,” he replies, breathless as he stares down at me from the window.

Outside the file room, heels click closer. My eyes dart to the jiggling handle and Steve wraps his arm around me, pulling me through the window and drawing it almost closed behind us.

My name travels through the window—Dot’s voice pitched with worry. Through the crack of the window I see her glance around the room, shrug, and leave, closing the door behind her.

And then I realize _I’m_ standing on the window ledge.

My breath hitches in my lungs as panic takes over, my blood rushes through me, my head woozy and knees shaking. Steve holds me tight, guiding us gently down to sit. My back presses to the stone of the building exterior and I cling to the man beside me. Eyes staying glued to him as I try to calm myself from the rioting panic coursing through me.

“God, Steve, what were you thinking?” I ask, voice pitched high and words tight in my throat.

“That woman,” Steve gestures toward the window into the office, “The stern one with the scary eyes.”

“May,” I fill-in. He nods in acknowledgment.

“She said you never wanted to see me again,” he says, turning back to me.

His hand presses on mine as he holds it, drawing it into his lap, keeping it tucked against him. Agony radiates from his eyes, but all I see is him ushering Wanda excitedly into his room.

“I did say that,” I reply, trying to maintain some modicum of strength by slapping on my most professional tone. “Just earlier today, when you called.”

My gaze remains cool as his entire being collapses on itself.

“Why? What did I do?” he asks, both hands clutching my own as if I were going to pull away from him and be lost forever.

My shoulders tense and I keep my lips tightly sealed, averting my gaze from him and feeding the simmering rage in my belly—the audacity of this man. I watch pigeons fly about, soaring over the city, and completely ignore him.

“Please, listen,” he begs. His hand reaches to turn my face. “You’re it for me, since that first moment I saw you walking around the corner the day I met you.”

My heart clenches as I attempt to steel it against his pretty words. But warmth pervades me all the same as I stare into his eyes, desperate and beseeching.

“I love you,” he proclaims easily, no hesitation.

Steve smiles, that silly, simple little grin that always irks me—his goddamn perfect face, always that grin that makes my stomach swoop. And now it feels like I’m plummeting down thirty stories, free-falling, flying. I pull myself back before I get lost in that feeling.

“Really?” I ask, suspicion clear in my tone, though I want to believe him and accept the defeat of my common sense, I hold myself back. As a reminder of his slight, my mind flashes to my best friend, her giddy squeal ringing in my ear. “But Wanda—”

“She’ll be happy to hear I finally got through to you,” he says, brushing off my comment.

“Really?” I repeat, a quiet skepticism he hardly catches. Clinging to the last dregs of betrayal as they drain away at his persistence.

“Absolutely.” He closes his eyes and leans his head on my shoulder. A small grin spreads over his lips. “Sweetheart, I know coming here was crazy, but I had to tell you, I’m yours,” he professes, shoulders relaxing with that weight off his chest.

I hum, my defeat upon me as I try to determine whether to give in—whether to forgive him, whether to believe him.

Surrendering to my desirous heart, my eyes scan his serene face, memorizing every angle and curve, every line, before I tilt his head up and press my lips against his.

And, God, if it doesn’t feel exactly like a a fire blazing to life and warming me from my head to my toes. A girl could get addicted to his lips, lightly chapped but still plush, and tasting like sunshine, somehow. His tongue dances with mine as we push ourselves closer together.

But just one move, dragging him closer to me, and I feel my balance shift. Fear drains down my spine as the reminder of our precarious perch surges to the front of my mind. My lips part from his as I yelp, clinging to his solid form for safety.

“It’s alright,” he soothes with a smile, “I got you, I got you. You won’t fall.”

He pulls me closer to the window until he can help guide me through to the file room. A breath of relief escapes me as my feet touch the solid floor.

His hand lingers in mine as he asks, “Whatever I need to atone for, can I take you to dinner, make it up to you?”

I nod, my teeth biting my bottom lip to corral the giddy smile that threatens to overtake my face—guess my traitorous side wins out. Steve doesn’t even try to hide his excitement from me as he pumps his fist in victory.

“I’ll take you out this Friday,” he proposes, eyes alight. “We’ll have a grand time, just you and me in the spiffiest place in town.”

He leans down. I push up on my toes to make up the difference between the floor and the windowsill. He presses a sweet kiss to my lips and parts with a dopey grin. My fingers brush back a stray tendril of his hair, just one moment longer with him before returning to work.

“See you Friday,” I intone as he begins to shut the window from the outside.

“Friday,” he confirms.

He shuts the window completely and I watch his descent along the building, ensuring his well-being on his way down.

My fingers brush across my lips as an incredulous laugh erupts from within me. I shake my head as I once more return to my work, filing folders and important documents. It passes slowly as distraction catches me at every turn, the thought of Steve sufficient enough to set me in a whirlwind of wistfulness.

Emerging from the file room close to the end of the business day, my eyes land on the door to Mr. Barnes’ office, his form silhouetted in the frosted glass. My smile drops and my mind starts to whir. I’ll say it again, the day I’m having.

*

I was getting suds on my new dress. One I had gone out to buy especially for my night with Steve. Was it as glamorous as some of Wanda’s dresses, no. Was it as sparkling as the one I had altered for the gala, no. But it’s one I fell in love with when I saw it—one I thought Steve would like. It was blue and delicate, slinky fabric complimented by lace. Though it cost a pretty penny, Steve’s face upon seeing me this evening was worth every cent.

And what was I doing in this amazing frock?

I was washing dishes at the supper club where Steve had taken me on our date. My hands clutched at a plate as I dried it with the towel. My eyes locked on the tub sitting in front of me to keep from glaring at the man working to my side.

“So,” Steve begins, setting the next plate in my tub to soak before I dry it.

I quickly cut him off, “No, no, no.” My head shakes as I try to contain the fury boiling in my belly. “I don’t want to hear you, Steve. I can’t even look at you right now.” My shoulder tense as I seethe at him. “What kind of man takes a woman out, but doesn’t stay within the budget of his own wallet?”

Embarrassment flushes hot over my skin as I think of the utter mortification of being escorted to the kitchens when Steve couldn’t pay our bill.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but—”

I place the dish in my hands down, fighting the urge to throw it at his thick skull. It clatters atop the pile and cuts off his thought. Is this what our life would be together? Is this the kind of man Steve is?

The maitre’d strides into the kitchen, pushing the door so forcefully it thwacks against the wall behind it as it swings open. He hustles through the crowd of busboys, waiters, and cooks to approach us.

“You two are done here,” he relays, gazing down his crooked nose at us. “Ms. Natasha has covered the remainder of your bill.”

Steve smiles, but I simply fold the towel in my hand.

“Natasha?” I ask, surprised to hear the name.

The maitre’d ignores me as he continues, “she has requested a chat with the gentleman.” The man’s tone is skeptical at the label for Steve, but Steve brushes it off.

“Thank you,” he says instead. “I know where to go.”

Steve turns to me with a contrite smile before walking through the kitchen and out the door to find Natasha.

“If the lady would follow me.”

The maitre’d turns and begins to walk, once again weaving his way through the bodies in the kitchen.

He escorts me toward the lounge of the club and I find a seat in a corner, hidden from prying eyes by the fronds of a short tree. My breathing grows ragged and my mind feels jumbled as I wait for my date to re-emerge from wherever the hell he went.

My finger pluck at a stray strand of thread on the seat as my mind drifts to the decision I’ve been putting off. The image of Bucky and Steve swirling around each other. A world of luxury and social climbing with a man I admire, or a world of hard work and laughter with a man who makes me feel _something_.

My mind jumps back and forth, volleying from thought to thought. The decision looms ever closer. I thought tonight would be it, choosing Steve for the sake of my emotions—had I had made a huge mistake? This, right now, was not the life for me. But was a life with Bucky?

“Natasha wants to talk to you, sweetheart, just to say hello,” Steve says from my side, jolting me from my thoughts.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” I reply, standing and brushing off my dress.

Steve guides me back toward the door off to the side of the stage. The door opens to a bustle of people and fabric as bodies rush around and get the band ready for the next set. We weave our way back to a door emblazoned with a star and Natasha’s name scrolled across it.

“She always did like to be recognized,” Steve comments.

There’s something subdued about him as he knocks and opens the door when we hear the soft ‘come in’ from beyond.

I walk into the dressing room, blinded by the lights for a moment. Natasha sits at her vanity. She smiles at me through the mirror. The door clicks behind us and I look back to see that Steve has left us alone.

“I told him I wanted to talk, just us girls,” Natasha explains with a small smirk on her face. “I was afraid that you’d have a poor impression of Steve after tonight, and I wanted to ensure that you didn’t.”

My arms cross over my chest as I step forward toward a cushioned bench by her vanity. I glance around the room, avoiding Natasha’s gaze and her scrutiny as I perch myself on the seat.

“You see, he’s a good friend of mine, and he’s a stand-up kind of fella,” she continues as she dusts her face with powder.

I nod, paying her the proper attention, but my mind just can’t help but try to refute her statement.

“He was really upset, making you clean dishes in the back,” she admits as she turns in her seat to face me.

A sigh blows past my lips as I recline a bit in the seat, leaning against the arm of the bench and resting my face on my fist.

“I wasn’t too pleased to be doing it either.”

“And now you’re wondering what you’re doing with a guy like him?”

She states it as a question, though we both know it’s a fact. I don’t bother nodding in response. Instead, I simply shift in my seat and try to find a comfortable position. She stares at me for a moment, analyzing my response and my reactions.

“You’re thinking of kicking him to the curb.” Natasha’s eyes narrow as she gazes at me. The heat of her displeased stare burns into my skin. “He’s one of the best guys in the city—helping people out everyday on the street, walking old ladies home and helping girls getting harassed by no-good hooligans. And you’re willing to give that up. Why?”

Her speech stuns me, but not from her explanation of Steve’s character. I’m not surprised by it, I had been one of those people he offered to help—twice. It’s her sharp tone, cutting me to the quick.

“My boss proposed to me,” I admit, looking at the floor. Inexplicable shame washes over me as I avoid looking at the woman sitting at her vanity. “Earlier this week. He wants to climb to the top of the social chain with me.” My voice drops to almost a whisper as I explain, finally getting it off my chest, though it doesn’t bring much relief to do so.

“So you have another option, one you would prefer,” she surmises.

Her cool demeanor doesn’t falter for even a second as her eyes remain focused. I shift again, my hands kneading on my lap as I wait for her to say something more.

“And what about Steve?”

My eyes flick back to her, my decision plaguing me, ripping at my insides.

“My head,” I explain, touching my temple, “it’s shouting at me to run away as fast as I can. It won’t stop thinking about the future and what my life will be with him.” My teeth worry over my bottom lip as distress overcomes my features. “Can I settle for what he can offer? How will we live?”

“What does your heart say?” Natasha asks as she finally turns from me back to her mirror and begins primping her hair.

“Why does that matter?” I ask, brow narrowing as I watch her. “I have—had— _have_ a plan to marry well, so I never have to worry about going hungry or missing a bill.” I shake my head and think back to my family, living in a small town and barely scraping by. “I‘ve lived that life, hand to mouth, and I can’t go back to that. Steve, he’s amazing, but he can’t provide the security I need on an artist’s wages.”

“Do you love Steve?” Natasha pauses as she asks her question, hands buried in her hair and eyes unyieldingly set on the mirror image of me.

My face scrunches further as I contemplate her question—what did I know about love?

“He’s like the sun, warm and comfortable and bright. I just can’t be with him,” I finally reply.

The muscles in my cheeks twitch as a sad smile fights to spread over my face. Natasha waits a moment, dropping her arms and glancing over her vanity.

“Can I tell you a story?” she asks, hands grazing over the bottles and boxes in front of her.

I nod as she pulls out a beautiful pair of sparkling earrings from her jewelry box. They catch the light and sparkle with a halo of brilliance. She notices my gaze with a smirk on her lips.

“I wasn’t always fabulously wealthy. In fact, I started out at this club as a cigarette girl.” She gestures with her hands as she stands and walks behind a changing screen. She continues, though I can’t see her, “Eventually, I scraped my way to an audition and Fury decided to let me sing. There was always this one man in the crowd. Whether I was selling a pack of gaspers or singing the night away, he was there, smiling at me like I hung the moon and stars.”

Her head peeks out the side as she places a hand on the screen for balance, the other gesturing along with her story.

“Now, he didn’t look like much, a bit rough around the edges, a little down on his luck. I just thought he was a nice fella, a little sweet on me.”

She retreats back behind the screen, the sound of shifting fabric and fumbling clasps echoing in the room. She emerges wrapped in a gorgeous dress. Feathers brush her shoulders and pearls drip down her back. She turns her back to me and I immediately stand to help her zip it up. With a smile, she returns to her vanity to for final touch-ups of her makeup.

“Sometimes he would bring me flowers to the back door when I finished performing for the night. And one night he gives me this pretty green glass brooch. Seeing as I was a little sweet on him at that point, I accepted it and he started being my fella.”

She paints her lips bright red, pausing in her story until she replaces the cap on her lipstick and blots her lips on a napkin.

“One day I was at the club talking to my friends when this guy starts yapping at me about the brooch. He keeps asking me where I got it.” Natasha turns to me, gesturing as she continues her story. “You see he was a jeweler, and it turns out the green glass wasn’t glass at all, they were bonafide _emeralds_. I was just flabbergasted and upset beyond reason. I thought my fella had stolen it. So I went to see him and confront him about it, and he just laughed and laughed at me.”

She chuckles a bit to herself, eyes misting over with memories. She shakes it off and makes the final touch-ups on her face, dabbing at her eyes.

“Come to find out, my fella was a real multi-millionaire. He didn’t look like one, but it was the God’s honest truth.”

Natasha leans back in her chair, against the table of her vanity.

Her eyes pierce through me as she continues, “We got married not too long after that, but I want to be clear, I didn’t marry him for the emeralds.” She raises a finger, waving it at me to emphasize her point. “Mr. R. and I would have been fine without all that money because we had love. Even if he didn’t have a penny in the bank, I would have married him because I loved him and he made me happy. And _that’s_ what matters.”

Her eyes mist over once again, but she sniffs it away. She stands, approaching me slowly and grabbing my hands in hers.

My mouth runs dry as I try to figure out something to say, but she keeps talking before I can, “When you feel something like that, like your love can fill you up and make you fly, the rest of life just falls into place. You’ll work your way through and figure it out. And you’ll be happy because you’re together. My pa always said you ain’t got nothing, if you ain’t got love.”

I bite my lip, keeping the objections that jump to the tip of my tongue silent. Natasha pats my cheek gently, a soft, tender look in her eyes as she steps around me and heads toward the door.

She pauses by the doorway, hand on the knob as she says, “I won’t tell you what to do with your life, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. But I will say that you shouldn’t ever make a choice that’ll leave you unhappy.”

With a final nod and grin, she exits her dressing room and leaves me alone.

I stand in the center of the room for quite a drawn out moment, contemplating what she said—if it changes anything, pushing me one way or the other. The music from the band resonates through the room, muffled by the walls. My hand presses to my forehead as the pressure builds and it feels as though I will collapse under the weight.

Emerging from Natasha’s dressing room, Steve sits on a crate, waiting for me. He stands and rushes to me, strides long and urgent, when he sees me appear.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” he asks, hand cupping my cheek and wiping away the tears that streak down my face. I didn’t even realize I was crying. “Whatever Natasha said, don’t listen, alright? You don’t gotta worry about anything she says.” Though he tries to smile, the expression is pained and stiff.

I nod and take a deep breath, giving myself a chance to revel in his embrace, in his care. He draws me close, resting his cheek on mine as I breathe in his cologne at his neck. My hands grasp at the back of his jacket as we stand connected.

When he pulls away, I take a step back, out of his arms—doing what I hope is the right thing. Steve’s face drops minutely as I make my move, clutching my arms in front of my body and preventing another embrace. My eyes drop to the floor, not able to look at his face.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” I say feeling all different kinds of vulnerable, yet unwilling to back down from this conviction I can feel building within me. “I don’t think I’m the right girl for you.”

With a glimpse at his face, an understanding acceptance shines through his watery eyes as he nods. He leads me back to the front of the club and to the coat check.

As he helps me into my coat, I mutter, “I’ll just find my own way back to the Priscilla.”

Without waiting for a response, I walk out the front door and down the street in the limited light from the street lamps.

“Wait,” Steve calls, hurrying to grab his own coat behind me.

Ignoring him, I continue walking, my pace quick. His footsteps echo behind me eventually, but I pay them no mind, hoping he’ll give up his chase. As I round the corner, a group of men hanging around a lamppost spot me.

My eyes keep staring ahead as I begin to hurry past, praying that they’ll leave me be. With straight shoulders, I march past them, though their swaying figures start to diminish the hope that I’ll walk by unscathed.

“Hey there, tootsie, why don’t you come play with us?” One man calls, his intoxication clear in his slurred words.

I make no reply, hurrying faster.

When they begin to follow, I breathe deeply but keep steady. The men continue to cat call behind me, slurred terms of endearment and agitated shouts hurled at my back.

A hand reaches out and grabs at my arm. My elbow flies back to sink into the gut of the man behind me, smelling of bathtub gin and cigarettes. He grunts and backs up a step, but somehow still clings onto my arm.

“Get your mitts off her,” Steve warns as he pushes through the unstable bodies of the men and rips the hand from me.

The men grumble, their fun ruined as Steve stands in front of me and cuts off their access. Steve turns to me as the men stumble around the corner and away from view.

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyes darting to the corner, still concerned that the men will reappear to finish their harassment.

“I’m fine, thank you.” A strained grin touches my lips as I look at him.

“Well, as I was trying to say before you walked off, it would make me feel much better if you would allow me to accompany you home.”

Steve shoves his hands into his pockets as he rocks on his feet, waiting for my answer.

I nod in acceptance and allow him to walk beside me as we find our way back to the boarding house. Each step is an exercise in self-control as I struggle not to reach out and grab Steve’s hand—despite every fiber of my being wanting that intimacy. My eyes can’t help but glimpse his face every once in a while as we walk together in silence.

His face is smooth, devoid of any emotion I can read as he walks up the steps of the Priscilla and bids me goodnight. I wait a moment, aching to lean forward and brush my lips against his.

I want to. He would let me.

But that niggling thought in the back of my mind reminds me, I made a decision—with all the regrets that come with it. So I bite my tongue and turn toward the door, kicking myself for not saying anything aside from ‘thank you for walking me home.’ Not ‘I don’t want to string you along while I try to decide on my future,’ not ‘I love you, but I can’t live your life,’ not ‘my boss wants to marry me and I haven’t decided how to respond,’ or anything to soothe the turmoil that flashes on his face when I turn away. The door just shuts behind me, and my window of opportunity to explain closes with it.

And I’m left with the crippling pressure to determine what will, as Natasha said, make me happy.

I know one thing for sure. Bucky still expects a response from me, and until I determine my stance with him for good, there’s no room to contemplate the merits of green glass love.

Wanda’s look of disappointment greets me in the lobby of the building as her eyes follow Steve. His figure moving down the street, trudging away. Tears build in my eyes as we enter the elevator together.

She taps her toes on the elevator floor, the only way to get the damn machine to move. But her eyes are watching me.

As a tears falls down my face, I confess everything—my indecision between two prospects leading me to the misery I felt now, my confusion and guilt.

Wanda says nothing as she helps me into my room and prepare for bed. She kisses my forehead as she tucks me in to sleep and retreats to her own room.

*

The rest of the weekend I spend in a dazed anguish, staying within the walls of the boarding house, ensconced in my thoughts of love and success—and what will truly make me happy.

By the time Monday rolls around, my guts feels as though a knife has been sunk in to the hilt, twisting as I step into the office. I punch in, May’s nod a sign of greeting as I find my desk. Dot lazes in her seat, leaning over to smile at me with a dopey grin.

“Oh, you’ll never believe the weekend I had,” she croons, far too chipper for a morning such as this.

She continues to chatter at me as I sit and observe her. Her story goes in one ear and out the other, despite my best attempts to be interested.

Instead, my focus is drawn to Bucky’s office door looming before me. Behind the frosted glass, his figure paces back and forth. I stand from my desk abruptly, cutting Dot off with an apologetic smile, and walk to his door with determined strides. My knock echoes inside and I enter without waiting for his response.

“Mr. Barnes,” I greet with a simple nod of my head, “I would like to discuss your proposal from this Friday last.”

My hands fold in front of me as I wait for his response.

Bucky stops pacing and turns to me, curiosity shining in his eyes—and maybe hope, maybe anticipation. He leans against his sturdy wood desk and gestures for me to continue.

I pause, taking a breath to observe him and build up to my question. The question I’ve been contemplating for the whole weekend—hours spent pining and trying to determine if ambition is really my only drive, if achieving my dream would make me happy even if it didn’t include love and devotion.

Eventually, I had come to an uneasy, unexpected conclusion, and prepared to resolve this, once and for all.

“Do you love me?” The crux of my dilemma, asked plainly, hangs in the air. It tumbles from my lips, but I keep a steady head, gaze locked with his.

Bucky’s head tilts as he surveys my form. I remain still, stoic, waiting for his answer—hoping, dreading, about to jump for joy or sink with sorrow. He sucks his teeth, his hand working over his jaw as he thinks. His gaze drops from mine. I give him the time to formulate his response, the clock ticking louder as minutes pass.

“There are things I love about you,” he finally admits.

His voice falters over his response, straining to get his meaning across. He crosses his arms and turns for a moment to stare at the wall to his right with a defeated shrug.

My heels clack on the floor as I slowly approach.

Standing before him, I remove his arms folded over his chest and turning his face back to me. Expression remaining clear of emotion, I lean forward slightly, pressing my mouth to his. His soft lips caress mine as his hand reaches to cradle my jaw. He stands straight, angling his head toward mine and trying to deepen the kiss. My hands rest on his chest and, with a light push, he respectfully retreats.

Green glass.

Looking into Bucky’s eyes and kissing his lips, all I can picture is Steve—his smile, his frown, his laughter, his concentration, dancing with him, walking with him, kissing him.

Bucky is brilliant, well-off, handsome beyond measure, but I feel nothing for him. No warmth, no spark, nothing. And my heart decided for my head that I just can’t live with that.

Perhaps I could have been happy with Bucky, before knowing the real thing—knowing Steve. But now, I know how hollow it feels when it’s all ambition and no _real_ affection—all sparkle and no substance.

God, was I blind. It hits me over the head all at once and, like the switch on of an electric light, everything becomes clear.

My brow tilts as Bucky’s eyes bore into me. He’s waiting for some kind of reaction, some answer to his proposal of marriage. But all that runs through my head is Steve and this brilliant thing that starts occupying my thoughts.

I shuffle a step back, careful in disengaging myself from my boss. A sigh blows past my lips and a melancholy grin lifts my cheeks.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes, for your generous proposal,” I say. My hands fold before my skirt once more as I speak. “I’m sure one day, you’ll make some gal very happy. Just not me.”

His shoulders sag. I fight the urge to comfort him, pressing my fingers firmly together so I don’t reach out.

“And, though I apologize for the sudden notice,” I continue, “I quit.”

His eyes flash with panic as I step toward the door.

He calls out, “Wait, Joe. You can’t leave.” Reaching out his hand to halt my departure, I stop and turn back to him. “Please, don’t leave.” His eyes implore me to stay, but I remain unbending.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” I reply, voice soft and apologetic. “You’ll find someone else.”

Turning my back on my former boss, I leave his office.

May stands by my desk, ready with paperwork neatly stacked for the process of my resignation. I smile at the woman, amazed by her foresight, as she hands the packet to me with a nod of approval.

Walking out of the Shield Incorporated building, a weight lifts from my shoulders. My eyes follow the façade of the building, thirty stories up, and a crow of joy bursts through me.

I flag down the first cab I see and pause—I don’t know where Steve lives, let alone where he would be at this time of day. The driver looks at me expectantly and I pull out my address book to rattle off Natasha’s address on Long Island. The man’s eyebrows arch all the way to his hairline, but after he ensures I can pay the fare, he starts driving.

My knees knock together and I can’t sit still as the city passes by and we make our way to Natasha’s mansion. Ready to burst, all I want to do is climb to the top of the Woolworth Building and proclaim to the world that I love Steve Grant.

My teeth worry over my bottom lip as I suppress my giddy giggles. Nothing has ever made me feel as good as I do now. With a light heart and fluttering belly, I hum a happy tune as the driver shoots me strange looks in the rear view mirror.

Countless miles and one dollar and eight-seven cents later, I stand on the porch of Natasha’s house, ringing the bell and shifting from foot to foot.

A very tall, proper-looking man opens the door. His eyes fall on me and his eyebrow quirks in question. I take a long look at the man standing before me, wearing a crisp suit and an unamused expression.

“Hello,” I greet, “I’m looking for Natasha. Is she in at the moment?”

My eyes peer around his towering figure, trying to catch a glimpse inside the house. His eyes narrow and I straighten my spine, a sheepish blush heating my cheeks.

“Right this way, miss,” he drawls and begins walking into the house.

My heels click with each step as I lengthen my strides minutely to keep up with him.

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” I say as we walk. My hand juts out before the man as I wait for him to shake my hand.

“Jarvis,” he replies, with his hand grasped firmly in mine.

“Jarvis?” I ask, curious, a spark of familiarity ringing in the back of my mind. “Golly, that’s a unique name—quite spiffy.”

He ushers me into a sitting room as I smile at him. Stepping to the couch closest to the door, I run my hand over the fabric along the back as my eyes scan my surroundings.

“It’s a family name.”

Though he doesn’t smile in return, his demeanor shifts. His shoulders lose their tension and his eyes stop analyzing my every move.

“Have you worked for Natasha long?” I inquire.

“Just started last week, after a glowing recommendation from Ms. Wanda,” he replies, the tips of his ears pinking as he keeps a cool façade.

I clap with happy delight as I place the man before me with the wonderful butler Wanda met at the park—the man she can’t stop talking about. My name rolls off his tongue as a question as he glances over me once more.

“That’s me,” I enthuse with a nod.

A muted chuckle rumbles in his chest, recognition smoothing his features. 

“Ms. Natasha will be with you shortly. She was expecting you, but her breakfast appointment is running a little long.”

“She’s expecting me?” I ask, skepticism tinging my tone. “I didn’t inform her I was coming.”

“I knew you’d show up,” Natasha says strolling into the room wearing a lavish dressing gown and holding a mug of coffee in her hand. “Did Jarvis offer you something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” I reply.

The man nods and departs, drawing the door behind him. My eyes latch onto Natasha as she steps away from me, stretching across a chaise lounge beneath one of the large windows. She peers up at me as I take the closest seat to her, an armchair facing toward her and away from the door.

“What do you think of him?” she asks, gesturing in the direction of Jarvis’ retreat.

“He seems very nice.”

Impatience jumps up my spine, shaking my leg as I try to get to the reason why I’ve shown up at her door. But she cuts me off before I can.

“I think so too,” she says, “but I had to be sure he was right for our Wanda.” Her lips wrap around the rim of her cup as she takes a sip. “She’s very pleased that he’s here. In fact,” she confides, “I think she’ll be very pleased to know the extent of my approval. It’s likely she’s hunted him down in the pantry at this very moment.”

“Wanda’s here?” I ask, surprise in my tone. As soon as my thoughts start to diverge from my purpose, I shake my head and get back on track. “No, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here, then?” Her brow arches in question, a bit of a challenge igniting in her eyes.

“Natasha, I don’t know what to do,” I confess. My body leans forward with urgency as I continue, “The last thing I told Steve was that I wasn’t the girl for him. I was trying to follow your advice. I wanted to determine what would make me happy—to see if marrying my boss would be right, but it wasn’t.”

“Why not?” she asks. “You want to live that glamorous uptown life of grandeur and society. Your boss could give that to you. There’s nothing wrong with choosing him.”

“Yes, there is,” I insist vehemently, biting my lip at my outburst. My eyes drop to my lap as all my regret sweeps over me like a wave. “I thought I could be happy with that—a fortune and an agreement—but once I really thought about it, realized what Steve made me feel, and then realized that my life with Bucky would be devoid of that feeling.” I shake my head at the prospect. Desperation leaks into my voice, and I can’t be bothered to stop it. “I have to find Steve and apologize, but I don’t know where he is or how to get into contact with him.”

“This seems like a rash decision to me,” Natasha accuses. “You’re willing to give up everything you’ve ever dreamed of to be with Steve? Living in a tiny apartment, working to scrape by, finding ways to scrimp and save until the end of your days?”

Natasha takes a sip of her drink as she waits for my answer. I nod, no time for contemplation needed—my decision was made—finally and completely, thank God.

“I want my green glass love,” I confirm.

My eyes look up and find her once more, a feline grin stretching across her lips as her eyes dance around the room.

“I—I admit, I wanted more than anything to live the high life and never have to worry about money again. It was why I came to the city—to make myself and find a rich husband. It was tempting to marry Mr. Barnes because he could give me that.” My shoulders shrug, contented acceptance sweeping over my body. “But then Steve bumped into me, and I won’t lie, he vexed me something fierce in the beginning before we became friends. And now, somehow, that man has wormed his way right into my heart and I don’t want anyone, or anything, else but him.”

“So, you’re sure you’ll be content with green glass?”

Natasha’s eyes dissect me, watching every twitch of my face and every tick of my muscles. My fingers grip at the fabric of my skirt, anticipation dancing along my spine.

I remain firm as I answer, “Yes, ma’am. Nothing else will do.”

A smirk stretches over her features.

“That’s too bad.”

My head whips around to the door at the sound of the voice, my body jumping up from my seat. Steve stands in the doorway, leaning on the frame, arms crossed over his chest. Words fail me as I try to scramble for something to say, the back cushion of the chair wrinkled in my tight grasp. A shy smile stretches his lips as he ducks his head.

“I was thinking our love was more like an emerald,” he admits, stepping further into the room, a gentle look of affection adorning his features.

I get caught in his adoring gaze, my mind slowing as I process what he said.

“What?” I ask, perplexed.

“Let me introduce you to my step-son,” Natasha announces as she stands from the chaise and walks over to Steve. My eyes whip over to her as she gestures for him to step forward.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” he introduces, standing tall and proud, “Heir to the Rogers’ steel fortune and on the board of directors for Shield Incorporated.” His smile beams, like he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on me.

My knees wobble and I quickly sit back down in the armchair. A hand raises to press against my forehead as my brain begins to cloud with woozy disbelief. Immediately, my hand is removed from my face and my chin tilted to look into Steve’s eyes.

He crouches before me, distress etched onto his features. I grip his forearm as I try to ground myself to reality.

“You’re not an artist?” I ask, words mumbled as I try to understand.

“All Rogers men have their hobbies,” Natasha pipes up. “Steve’s father liked to landscape and garden, Steve likes to sketch and paint.”

Her shoulders shrug as she places her cup down on the side table and circles around us. She walks up, shooing Steve away from me. She kneels down and stares deep into my eyes.

“It was my idea to send Steve and Wanda out, penniless, into the world to find their match. Both of them were surrounded by fortune hunters who just wanted every dime they could pinch. I wanted them to find love,” Natasha explains with a mischievous grin. “And they ended up finding you and Vis. I couldn’t be more proud.”

“Wanda?” My mind wanders to my best friend.

“My sister,” Steve clarifies. “She’s around here somewhere, arrived with me this morning.”

My head nods, though the information overloads my brain. In order to focus my mind, everything in my periphery blurs until I only see Steve.

His cornflower blue eyes, expectant and intense as he waits on me, devotion shining through like a beacon. His rough hands, calloused in the right places for an artist, fidgeting by his side. His strong shoulders, set in a steady stance, suspense keeping his muscles tense, the occasional twitch in my direction as he choreographs his urge to move closer.

“You’re rich,” I accuse, slowly, trying to piece together the bits of the puzzle I’ve been given.

“Incredibly.” Steve nods, wariness still present in the tightness of his figure as he observes my reactions.

Though he instantly steps forward to help me stand when I make a wobbly attempt on my own. His palms rest gently on my elbows, supporting me and keeping me safe.

“You love me,” I say, the words tilting up into a question as I utter them.

His hands drift, wrapping around my waist. He keeps me steady, held close, cradled against him.

“Unreservedly, irrevocably,” he confirms with a warm smile.

I meet his eyes and happiness crashes over me, flooding my body. My hand sneaks around his neck, lacing my fingers through the short hair at his nape. His eyes flutter as he takes a minute to bask in the touch.

My mouth quirks at his reaction before I blurt, “Marry me?”

A bark of laughter escapes him.

“Sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask.”

He captures my lips in an instant, kissing me until all I know is him. Steve lifts his hands to my jaw, tilting my head and directing me as he devours my lips. An eager purr echoes in my throat.

“Jarvis, bring out the champagne and get Wanda down here, tell her we’re celebrating!” Natasha crows in triumph as she whoops and dances around the room.

Steve and I break apart, laughter separating our lips and shaking our chests. Natasha radiates joy as she comes over to congratulate and embrace us. Wanda bursts into the room only a minute later, full of happy giggles and cries of delight. She and Natasha pop the cork on a bottle of champagne, passing around glasses. Jarvis wraps an arm around Wanda’s waist and she giggles into his side. I smile at her as I stay in Steve’s tight embrace, enveloped in his arms.

My eyes meet Steve’s, his eyes crinkled with his smile, and everything clicks into place. I lean forward, tucking my head in the crook of his neck, resting on him and trusting his strength. A sigh of relief blows through me, starting all the way from my toes and cleansing every inch of my body.

Dollars to doughnuts, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slang Dictionary: 
> 
> Stenog — stenographer, someone who transcribes speech into shorthand, like a secretary  
> Swell — wonderful  
> Supper club — a restaurant which also hosts live entertainment  
> Hooligans — a rowdy person who causes trouble for others  
> Cigarette girl — a person who sells or provides cigarettes, candy, cigars, and chewing gum from a tray held by a neck strap, acted as eye candy  
> Gaspers — cigarettes  
> Tootsie — another word for woman,  
> Mitts — hands  
> Dollars to doughnuts — a phrase indicating certainty

**Author's Note:**

> Here are the resources I used to help with the slang:  
> https://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2012/10/how-sound-bees-knees-dictionary-1920s-slang/322320/  
> https://alcapones.com/slang_dictionary.php  
> http://grembert0.tripod.com/id1.html  
> http://www.huffenglish.com/gatsby/slang.html
> 
> Sorry this took me so long to post! I’m the type of writer who has to edit a work wholly, so I can’t post individual chapters even if they’re written, unless I want to go back and edit already posted chapters. Because concepts and ideas change as the writing happens, I need to make sure the narrative flows and remains consistent. So, again, I apologize. There’s a possibility I might try to challenge myself to do something different.
> 
> But my next story is already started and seems to be coming along SO much faster, so that should be posted quicker than I got this one up. (Also, it’s a sequel to a story I’ve already posted, so...I’m excited.)
> 
> Leave a comment or a kudos (or both!) to let me know what you think. I love hearing feedback! Thanks for reading! (extra cookies if you read my long diatribes in the beginning and end notes 🍪🍪🍪)


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